


Ghosts

by angelwings80



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Infant Death, Life Partners, Memories, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 16:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10971336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwings80/pseuds/angelwings80
Summary: Jon and Sansa's story from the beginning to the end and beyond.Jon recalls the days of their youth and the life they shared.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me when I was reading through journals my Grandmother kept. She died years ago but we have the journals she wrote in extensively most of her life and we recently began reading through them. I got to thinking about what Jon and Sansa's lifestory would be and this just spilled out. It's a long one at nearly 10,000 words.
> 
> Just a warning, it does have some trigger issues in it. Infant loss and character death.
> 
> For the sake of clarity, the sections in Italics is Jon looking into his past until the end part when it's him in a different existence. The regular font is Jon in current time.
> 
> This is not canon. I tweaked a couple of things around to make myself happy. I always thought Ned claiming Jon as his bastard caused more harm than good in his life and he could have easily claimed Jon as Brandon's bastard while still protecting him. It would have made Jon's life easier and Catelyn wouldn't have hated him so much.

Jon could feel the cold deep in his bones.  He was a man of the North and had survived the long Winter, sword in hand, but the chill in the Spring breeze made his body ache.  Yet another sign that his days were numbered, and gratefully so, the stories of his youth filed away in history books that the children of Westeros will hate as much as he despised sitting through lessons about the ancient heroes of their day and all the political upheaval throughout time.  Every step he took felt like he was dragging a thousand pounds around his ankles but he would continue.  He walked the halls and grounds of Winterfell daily, his eyes falling out of focus as he remembered the life that was now fading into its twilight.  It was quiet now.  The massive castle sitting nearly empty outside of the servants and Jon himself.  It seemed to be resting.  Waiting for the King of the North to go into the dark night before his son Robb became the new Warden of the North and guardian of Winterfell.  A smile touched his lips when he thought of Robb Stark, Warden of the North.  It was the way it should have been all along.

The area of the castle the Stark’s had lived in was no longer in use.  It had been years since anybody had bedded down in those rooms.  As Jon walked past his Lord’s chambers, he felt conflicted.  His mind flooded with memories of his Uncle Ned, the man who had raised him as his own, risking his own life to protect him from Robert Baratheon, the King who would have had him slaughtered for being a Targaryen.  His thoughts turned dark when he thought of the reason the chambers had been put out of use.  Ramsay Bolton had taken the rooms as his own when he stole Winterfell, viciously raping Sansa within its walls during their brief arranged marriage.  Pushing the image from his mind, he opened the door and stepped inside.  Everything was as it was when Ned left to go South.  Even though the rooms hadn’t been used since they retook Winterfell, it was obvious Sansa had arranged to have everything put back as her Father had it even though he had been long gone by that point.  The servants maintained the room, cleaning it regularly, and even changing the bedding.  Jon sat in the chair by the desk, resting his walking stick between his legs as he looked around the room.  He realized he was sitting in the exact same place he had been the night a star flittered down from the sky and exploded into his life.

_Ned, Robb, and Jon waited in the Lord’s chambers for news.  Lady Catelyn’s screams rang down the hallways, echoing off the stone walls.  She had been in her birthing bed for the better part of the day.  Jon wasn’t sure how birthing children worked, having never been present for a birth before but from the sounds his Aunt was making, it was a horrific thing.  Neither he, nor Robb, could understand why Ned was so excited.  The smile hadn’t left his face since that morning when the Maester had come to him in the armory to tell him that Lady Catelyn’s pains had begun and a new Stark would be gracing Winterfell by sundown.  Both boys were barely six and waiting around for the baby to arrive felt like torture.  From the explanation Ned had given them, the baby should have just come right out so everyone could get on with what they were doing.  Clearly, his Uncle’s simple explanation, intended to be understandable by little boys was too simple because it left them with very unrealistic expectations._

_Robb was his usual self, chattering incessantly and playing with his wooden sword and little wooden horses.  Jon had attempted to play with Robb but he couldn’t distract himself enough from the sounds of agony coming from Lady Catelyn’s room.  He had spent the better part of the day with his heart trying to beat out of his chest and every morsel of food he swallowed threatening to come back up.   The Maester had been wrong when he told them the baby would be here by the time the sun set.  It was nearly dawn when Ned woke the boys up and walked them down the hallway, bleary eyed, to Lady Catelyn’s room.  When they entered, Ned and Robb went to the bedside while Jon stood in the doorway watching.  From his viewpoint, he could see a tiny little pink foot but not much else._

_“Jon,” Lady Catelyn said.  “You can enter.  Come see your cousin.”  She smiled but Jon could see that she was exhausted, her eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles underneath them._

_He walked slowly into the room, wiping his hands on his trousers to dry them from the sweat on his palms.  Catelyn rocked the babe, trying to stop the loud crying that made Jon’s ears practically ring.  As he stood at the bedside, he looked down at the babe, noting that its face was nearly as red as the mop of hair on its head from all the crying._

_“What is it?” he asked._

_Lady Catelyn laughed.  “It’s a baby!”_

_“Yes ma’am,” Jon stuttered.  “I know that.  I mean…um….is it a boy?”_

_Ned put his hand on Jon’s shoulder.  “No, she is a girl.  Meet Lady Sansa of Winterfell.”  Ned’s smile went from ear-to-ear.  Jon wasn’t sure why Ned would be so excited about a girl.  Girls didn’t inherit lands or titles.  They didn’t have authority.  They married and had children for their husbands yet Ned acted like this little girl was a gift from the old Gods and the new.  And a very loud gift at it._

_Jon leaned down to get a closer look at the newest little Stark.  He carefully touched her cheek with his finger, she was very soft._

_“You shouldn’t cry so loud,” Jon said.  “Your Lady Mother needs to rest.  It was hard work getting you here.”_

_The babe stopped crying, little sniffles and hiccups making almost inaudible sounds.  She looked in Jon’s direction, her eyes focusing in on his when he moved his face closer to hers.  He felt like a bolt had shot right through him and he jumped back startled and a little embarrassed by his lack of propriety in his Lady Aunt’s presence._

_“My apologies Lady Stark,” he mumbled before turning around and running out of the room.  He didn’t stop running until he got to his room and was safely behind his closed door._

Even after years abandoned, the Lord’s chambers still smelled the same as it had when he was a boy.  Jon took a deep breath and he could almost smell the wood as it burned in the hearth but there was no fire tonight and hadn’t been for a long time.  He stood, taking one last look around the room, somehow knowing he would never step foot in here again.  As he walked back into the corridor, he closed the door firmly, making a mental note that he needed to request that Robb use these rooms again.

He walked down the hall, resting his hand on Robb’s old door, unable to bring himself to enter before continuing to his childhood room.  He sat on his narrow bed, wondering how he managed to not break his back for how hard it was.  Apparently, youth had its advantages. 

_“Jon,” the little voice whispered.  “Jon, wake up.  Please.  Wake up.”_

_Jon gradually woke, a little hand on his shoulder shaking him much harder than necessary._

_“What?” he demanded.  When he realized who the hand belonged to, his irritation disappeared.  “Oh, Sansa.  I’m sorry.  I thought you were Robb.  What’s wrong?  Why are you in here?  Do Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn know you came down here?”  He sat up in his bed._

_“No,” she said.  “I’m scared and Robb told me to go away.”_

_The storm moving through the North made the wind howl through the trees and the old stones of the castle creak eerily.  Even with a fire, his room was freezing and when he looked down, he realized Sansa wasn’t wearing anything on her feet._

_“Sansa,” he said.  “You’re going to get sick.  It’s too cold for you to be walking around without your feet covered.  I’ll take you back to bed.”_

_Before he had a chance to move, Sansa had climbed into his bed and practically jumped into his lap.  “Please Jon.  Let me sleep here.  I’m too scared to go back to my room!”_

_“Sansa,” he said.  “It isn’t proper.  If they find you in my chamber in the morning, they might think I did something…..”_

_He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.  He didn’t want to say anything inappropriate to his five-year-old cousin and before he could come up with something, she was clinging to his neck tightly.  He knew it was a lost cause._

_“Okay Sansa,” he said.  He pulled back the furs, scooting himself back against the wall to make space for her.  She tucked herself into his side, her frozen feet wrapping around his legs.  “But you can’t make this a habit.  There’s nothing to be afraid of, it’s just a storm.”_

_Sansa took only a few moments to fall asleep but Jon stayed wide awake.  He waited until he knew she was deep in slumber before sliding out from behind her and carrying her carefully back to her bedchamber.  He was still asleep outside her door when his Lord Uncle found him in the morning and helped him back to his bed.  He was ill for nearly a week after that but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry at Sansa.  She was just a little girl and if he was being honest, he would sleep outside her chambers every night if it made her feel safe._

An hour later, he found himself in the great hall.  The tables and benches remained, Stark banners decorating the walls in the cold, barren room.  Jon hadn’t held a feast in five years.  He never cared for them anyway, only humoring them because Sansa enjoyed arranging them and dancing the night away.  He did like sitting at the front of the room on the raised platform and watch her as she danced, her movements elegant and graceful.  The light from the candles would shine off her hair, making it look like a curtain of fire as she twirled around in gowns that were nowhere near as beautiful as the girl wearing them.  The last time the entire Stark family was together was in this room.

_“I hate them.” Jon said through gritted teeth._

_“They aren’t that bad,” Robb said.  “They’re just pampered Southerners.  All the High Kings and Queens are like this.”_

_“I don’t care,” Jon said.  “It’s strange.  Why Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn are going along with this farce is beyond me.”_

_“Sansa has to marry and Joffrey is the best choice for her,” Robb said.  “The King wants to join our houses and this is the only way to do it.”_

_“It’s shite,” Jon said.  “It’s disgusting.  She hasn’t even flowered yet and she’s already being sent South to be married off to the perfumed Prince.  You know he’s not worthy of her.  He won’t be good to her.  He’s a selfish prat.”_

_Robb sighed.  “Jon….When Father promised the two of you to one another, he didn’t know Baratheon would demand she marry Joffrey.  He intended for Sansa to marry you.  But we don’t get to choose our lives.  We serve our people and this is the best arrangement for both the people of Westeros and the North.”_

_“But it isn’t the best choice for Sansa,” he said.  “She should have a say in who she is to be married to.”_

_“Really?” Robb asked.  “So, if Sansa had told Father that she didn’t want to be wed to you, you would have let her go?”_

_“Yes,” Jon said.  He could feel anger bubbling in his chest.  At least what he thought was anger though he suspected it have more of a green tinge to it.  “I would only want for Sansa’s happiness.  Even if it wasn’t with me.  But I would have been good to her.  I would have loved her the way she deserves.  Kept her safe.  Given her all the children she is always banging on about wanting.  I would have…I swear it.”_

_“I know Jon,” Robb said.  “And if it were up to me, I’d let you.  But it isn’t and this is how it has to be.  Are you sure you really want to join the Nights Watch?  You will be giving up everything.  Don’t you want a wife and children some day?”_

_“Not anymore.”  The bitterness in his voice was obvious.  He watched as Sansa spoke with Queen Cersei and her Lady Mother.  He wasn’t sure what they were speaking about but the pink hue on Sansa’s cheeks told him it was something embarrassing._

_He spent the rest of the evening in the yard, beating his sword against a dummy until he was exhausted.  He fell into his bed fully clothed and was asleep within moments._

_“Jon,” she whispered.  She shook her shoulder as she always did._

_He didn’t even need to open his eyes to know who was shaking him awake.  “Sansa….what are you doing?”_

_“We leave tomorrow,” she said._

_“I know.”  The words came out harsher than he had intended._

_“Please don’t be angry,” she pleaded.  “I would have happily been your Lady Wife.  I hope you know that.”_

_“I do know Sansa,” Jon said.  He sat up and made a space for her to sit down.  “I’m not sure it’s right for anybody to be laying claim on you.  You are still so young.  You just had your eleventh name day for Gods sake.  You should still be playing with your dolls and fancy dress clothes.  Sending you South to wed is ridiculous.”_

_“You were going to marry me,” Sansa challenged._

_“Not for many years!”  He had raised his voice unintentionally.  “I figured we would be wed in ten years time and even then, had you decided you didn’t want me, I would have released you from your obligation to me.  I don’t want this for you.  I want you to be free.  You deserve to be free.”_

_“Free from what?” she asked._

_“Free from everything and everyone!” he explained.  “Free to run through the Godswood.  Free to play and laugh and be young.  Free to love who you choose.”_

_“I’m a Princess of Winterfell,” she said quietly.  “I have never been nor will I ever be, free to do as I will.”_

_“You would have been with me,” he said.  “I would have made sure of it.  I would do anything for you.”_

_“Would you?  Truly?” she asked._

_“Yes,” he said.  “Well, anything within my power I guess.”_

_“Kiss me,” she blurted out._

_“What?”  Jon pulled back quickly._

_“Kiss me,” she repeated._

_“Sansa,” he said.  “That would be inappropriate.  You’re too young.  I’m nearly a man.”_

_“I’m eleven,” she said.  “And promised to marriage already.  As soon as I flower, my maidenhead will be gone.  I don’t want Joffrey to have my first kiss.”_

_Jon pursed his lips, a heavy breath forced out of his nose.  The thought of Joffrey touching Sansa made his blood boil.  His jaw flexed as he squeezed his fist in anger.  This wasn’t right.  None of this was right._

_Leaning forward, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, spreading his fingers into her hair.  He looked into her eyes, searching for any trepidation, finding none.  He sighed before kissing her lips as lightly as he could and pulling back when she reacted by pressing her lips against his harder._

_“No more Sansa,” he said firmly.  “That’s it.”_

_“I won’t ask for more,” Sansa said.  “Thank you.”_

_Jon’s lips were tight, his anger threatening to get the best of him.  Sansa shouldn’t be treated like a breeding animal.  It was like the two families were dealing in livestock.  It was wrong in every way._

_Sansa was a child.  A young girl.  She was too young to even be thinking about boys much less getting married.  Jon figured his first kiss would be something that would light his blood on fire but it did nothing of the sort.  Rather than a heady feeling, all he felt was anger and disgust.  A fierce desire to protect her surged through him.  He wanted to gut every Baratheon and Lannister in Winterfell at that very moment.  He wanted to steal her away, take her somewhere she could skip through meadows, pick flowers, or lay in the grass staring at the clouds and imagining her future love.  He could work as a stable hand to make enough coin to take care of her and maybe even make sure she had a few of the pretty dresses she liked and some dolls with red hair like hers._

_Sansa stood up, watching him in his daze for a moment before walking towards the door.  As she reached for the handle, he came up behind her and grasped her arm._

_“If you need me,” he said.  “For any reason….send a raven.”_

_“You’ll be a man of the Nights Watch,” she said._

_“Send a raven,” he said._

Jon hadn’t spent much time thinking about his time with the Nights Watch once he left the Wall.  If it wasn’t for the shiny, inch long scars that adorned his body, covering his chest and abdomen, he might have even forgotten it.  Pushed it into a far away place in his mind so it never saw the light of day again.

_As he rode out of the gates, still sore from the stab wounds that covered his body, he didn’t even bother to look back.  All ties he had to the Watch had been severed when the knives pierced his skin.  As he lay dying in the snow, the last thoughts he had were of Sansa.  He wasn’t sure what was worse, dying or knowing Sansa would be getting the news of his demise, most likely in the most impersonal way possible.  He half hoped Sam would be kind enough to personally see to it but even that option was limited.  When he had come back, he didn’t understand why.  For days he wandered around, trying to figure out why he would have been given his life back when so many others he thought more deserving of life, men like Lord Commander Mormont and his Uncle Ned, had fallen to never rise again._

_Standing on the walkway, overlooking the courtyard, his answer looked up at him with big, blue eyes.  When his arms wrapped around her, he knew he had come back for her, to her.  His horse rode behind hers, his eyes moving from side to side, his body tense and prepared to fight should anything come near her.  Their reunion had been difficult.  They had argued, both of their stubborn tempers getting the best of them.  He wasn’t sure why he bothered fighting with her.  He knew he would go wherever she went.  He also knew that going North was their only true option.  Regardless of how horribly Ramsay Bolton had abused her, Sansa was still his legal wife and Jon couldn’t let that stand.  He had told her all those years ago that all she had to do was ask for his help and she had.  Jon practically vibrated in anticipation of killing Ramsay Bolton.  Even if they didn’t succeed in taking back Winterfell, he would set Sansa free if he had to pour Bolton’s blood into snow in front of the Gods themselves to do it._

_They did get their home back but it wasn’t truly home.  The Winterfell they had known as children as gone.  In its place was a skeleton of the World they had grown up in.  For months Sansa moved around the castle like a ghost.  Jon could spend hours looking for her only to find out she hadn’t been seen since breakfast.  All the places he thought she might be turned up empty and when he did find her, it would be in the most unexpected places.  One of those places was his chamber, six moons after they had returned to Winterfell._

_Jon had made his way to his rooms right after the morning council meeting.  Every step felt like he had lead in his boots until he closed his chamber door behind him, kicking his boots off and stripping all of his clothing as he went to his bed.  It was the middle of the day but he was exhausted.  He rarely slept when the rest of the castle was asleep, spending most of his nights sitting outside of Sansa’s chambers.  He would doze off sometimes but the slightest sound had him on his feet, his sword drawn as his eyes scanned the dark corridor, usually to find the noise offender was nothing more than a rodent or the resting of the stones of the walls.  Climbing into his furs, he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  He awoke to a familiar scent, his favorite scent.  A mix of lemon and something else that was unique to Sansa.  Her skin was under his fingertips, her body pressed against his.  He opened his eyes to see that she was asleep, her head wedged underneath his chin and her hands flat against his bare chest.  She had to have seen him when she climbed under the furs with him, she must know he was naked.  The idea horrified and excited him in a strange way.  He carefully turned himself around, trying to put a little bit of space between them but as soon as he did, he felt an arm come around his ribs and her hand was back on his chest.  He closed his eyes, trying to take even breaths as quietly as he could.  He thought of disgusting things in hopes that his physical reaction to her touch would go away before she woke up and realized that he was just as perverted as the rest of the men who leered at her.  The feeling of her pressed against his back was comforting though and before long, he gave up trying to force his body to behave and fell back asleep.  When he woke, she was gone._

Jon was tired.  So tired.  He knew Sam’s grandson, Jorah Tarly would be waiting for him in his rooms by now.  There were few days he didn’t rest at midday anymore.  Time had withered his body nearly as much as heartache had withered his soul.  Jorah had been Jon’s caretaker since Sam had passed away five years beforehand.  When his Grandfather died, Jorah had announced that he would be taking the black, something that Jon couldn’t stomach.  Another chubby Tarly at the Wall.  He could already see what a mess that would be.  Instead, he offered him a station as his personal helper at Winterfell to keep him from taking his vows.  He would have liked to have had him as a squire but it had been a long time since Jon had wrapped his fingers around a sword.  He rarely bothered getting on a horse these days either. 

He found Jorah turning down his bed as he entered.

“Afternoon Tarly,” Jon said. 

“Good afternoon your Grace,” Jorah responded.  “I have sent for your food to be brought up so you can eat before you rest.”

“No need,” Jon said.  His voice was harsher than he had intended.  “I don’t feel like eating.  I just want to have a lay down.”

Jorah nodded, taking Jon’s arm and helping him into bed.  Jon grunted in irritation at being put to bed like a little child.  He hoped he was gone well before he had someone wiping his ass for him.  He would have bickered with the Tarly boy but his eyes were already drooping and he wasn’t sure it was going to be of much help anyhow.  He had to accept that his life was now at the whim of others.  He dozed off, still agitated but resigned to his situation.

_He dreamt about her.  He could feel her skin against his.  Her hair felt silky between his fingers.  Her voice sounded like she was singing but she was just speaking to him.  He couldn’t make out what she was saying but he watched as her mouth perked up as she spoke and smiled at the same time.  There was joy in her eyes.  It had been so long since he had seen her eyes sparkle like that._

When he woke, he sat up, looking around the room.  He was alone but he didn’t feel lonely.  Sansa was always there.  Most of his dreams were of her.  He always felt good when he woke up after seeing her in his sleep.  It was days like this that he appreciated the sweet lemony scent that was always in his chambers. The servants replaced the fruit on the bedside table daily.  He could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue.

Jon knew where he was going.  He had three more places to visit before the sun set on the day.  He got up, moving quickly to get his clothes on and wrap his heavy cloak around his shoulders.  Looking down the hallway, left and then right, he walked as silently as he could down the corridor, taking extra caution on the stairs until he was safely outside the castle walls and out of Jorah’s well-meaning sight.  He was pretty sure he wasn’t moving nearly as fast as he thought he was but before long, he was going into the Godswood.  Finding the flat rock he and Sansa spent so many hours on, he sat down and looked around.

_Watching Sansa walk towards him threatened to crack his heart into pieces.  She was beautiful.  The most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life.  Her dress was silk, dyed to match the red and black cloak he himself wore._

_He knew he would make her his wife on the exact same spot he had asked her to take him as her husband nearly two moons ago._

_In truth, he hadn’t expected her to agree to their marriage.  His Aunt had set the proposal in motion when she sent a raven discussing Sansa’s marital options.  Jon found himself grinding his teeth as he read through the missive, perusing the names of Lords of the high houses throughout the North and even the South.  From what he gathered, it was Dany’s intent to have Sansa married off so Jon could join her in King’s Landing, no longer obligated to be her protector.  He didn’t want that.  At all._

_Jon was aware that Targaryens were in the habit of intermarrying.  He also knew it was the most likely cause of their madness.  He suspected that is how he ended up in Winterfell after his parents died.  Beyond the need to protect him from the Baratheon King who would slaughter him over his bloodlines, being away from the Red Keep served other purposes too.  His Lord Uncle guarded Jon’s identity fiercely, claiming Jon as his nephew, bastard of his dead brother Brandon.   The deception allowed Jon to grow up in Winterfell, unaffected by the politics and power struggles over the Iron Throne.  Even now that Jon knew who his parents were, he had no interest in sitting on that Throne, content to stay in Winterfell and leave all the treachery and plotting to his Aunt who was much better at it than he could ever hope to be.  The only thing he wanted in his life more than anything was her._

_Now, standing next to Sam Tarly, watching as she walked gracefully towards him on their wedding day, he thought back over everything they had gone through to get back to Winterfell, to each other, to this moment.  He looked down at her as she stood in front of him, taking in as much of her as he could.  It was strange.  They knew each other as well as one could know another.  They had grown up together and barring the few years Sansa had spent pretending to be a perfect Lady while disregarding him, they had loved one another as cousins, friends, and eventually, as each other’s bethrothed yet as he looked at her, it was as if it was a totally different woman was standing there.  It wasn’t until years later that he realized the difference between the Sansa he had known since she was born and the lady that wed him that day.  For the first time in her life, she was doing something because she had make her own choice.  Jon didn’t demand her hand in marriage.  He didn’t use threats or coercion to get her to accept his proposal.  He simply spoke from his heart.  He wanted her to feel safe and he would give his life to protect her.  He would give her everything she could ever want and more importantly need, including his love for the rest of his days._

Jon struggled to remember the words he spoke to Sansa that day.  While some of his memories were still as sharp as the day they happened, allowing him to replay them in his head as if he were watching them in front of him, there were some that seemed hazy and out of focus.  As he thought about it, he realized that he couldn’t have repeated his words the day he said them.  But he could remember how she looked standing under the trees with the snow falling gently into her hair, creating a sharp contrast between the white and the flames of her locks.  He also vividly remembered how he felt when he put his cloak over her shoulders, bringing her under his protection, and it made his chest ache.

_They stood in the Godswood, their eyes focused on one another.  There were a few hundred people surrounding them, heads as far as they could see.  Jon was vaguely aware of the words being spoken, guiding them through their vows and instructing them as they went through the motions of the ceremony.  All he could see though was blue.  The blue of his bride’s eyes that drew him in and created a space around them that nobody else could enter.  The witnesses of their wedding became nothing more than a sea of non-descript faces and white noise in the background.  Her hair was cold when his fingers waded through it, pulling her face to his before he gently kissed her lips.  Sansa shivered though Jon didn’t think it was from the cold.  The chill around them felt like nothing, a fire burned in his belly.  They had done it.  Years after initially being promised to one another only to be torn apart, they were wed.  He was hers and she was his._

The cold was biting at his skin and making his bones ache.  He needed to get back to the castle before Jorah realized he had managed to sneak out.  Jon figured if Jorah knew he had managed to get around him, he’d be on him like stink on shit, something Jon found more irritating than he would admit in the boy’s presence. 

Jon didn’t bother going back to his chambers to put away his cloak.  Instead, he tossed it on a chair as he entered the hallway.  Either Jorah would find it or a servant would return it later on.  Jon didn’t think he would be needing it anyway.

He hesitantly pushed open the door that led to the chambers he and Sansa had shared.  It was still in perfect condition, maintained by the servants at his request right down to a fire burning the hearth.  It was as if someone had left the rooms just that morning but nobody had used these rooms in many years.  Her hairbrush remained on the table she sat at every morning, unbraiding her hair and combing out any tangles before her ladies would come in and prepare her for the day.  There were even a few of her beloved hair pins, two of them Jon recognized as the ones he had brought back from the South for her in honor of their 25th wedding anniversary.  Pieces of her hair had grayed by then but even the diamonds in the pins were nowhere as beautiful as she still was.  He still loved this part of the castle.  He came to the rooms nearly every day though he hadn’t slept there in a long while.  Sansa used to sit in silence, staring off into the distance as if in a trance.  When he asked her about it, she had told him it was her quiet moments since she no longer prayed.  At the time, he didn’t understand the point of it but he did it often now.  There were times when he swore he could hear the sound of children playing, their laughter echoing through the halls.  He could even differentiate between the children though he knew it was all in his mind.  The only children who graced the corridors of Winterfell were his grandchildren when they would visit which, in his opinion, wasn’t nearly often enough.  He understood though.  Their children were grown now with children of their own.  They had their own lives, and homes, and responsibilities.

Looking around the solar, he smiled.  He had spent many years traveling all over the World.  He had been so far North that the people of Westeros referred to the Wall as the end of the World.  His time in the South had made him yearn for the snowy grounds of his true home.  There had even been a few sea voyages he had hated more than Theon Greyjoy himself, but nothing he experienced during those days matched what he had in those rooms as he and Sansa raised their family and loved one another.

_Their wedding feast had gone on well into the night much to Jon’s dismay.  He wanted nothing more than to take his wife to their rooms and shut the door behind them, leaving everyone behind.  But as King, he had an obligation to his people, something Sansa reminded him of on a regular basis.   When whispers of a bedding ceremony began to permeate through the crowd, Jon knew it was time to take his bride out of the Great Hall.  Sweeping her off her feet and into his arms, he ignored the hooping and hollering of the guests as he walked through the crowd.  He whispered in her ear when she rested her head against his shoulder.  He felt the tense strain of her discomfort in her body begin to release as he spoke of his love for her, pulling her attention away from the inappropriate comments surrounding them and bringing her back to their little place in the World._

_Jon thought he had known what it was to love a woman before.  There had been a girl in his youth, a wildling who had taken his innocence under their furs in the middle of nowhere and ensnared his heart along with his body.  He never imagined he would ever feel as intensely for another as he had her but he was wrong.  What he felt as he carried his wife into their chambers surpassed anything he could have ever imagined.  This wasn’t wrong.  It wasn’t dirty.  He wasn’t being pulled between his hormones and his honor._

_After that night, he understood why many considered the marital bed to be sacred.  As he moved in Sansa, she held him in her power.  She owned him.  He was surrounded by her scent, the taste of her lips, and the feel of her heat as he thrust as deeply into her as he could.  The sounds she made drove him nearly to madness, pushing him to repeat whatever he had done to warrant her cries and his name on her lips.  When she came apart in his arms, he couldn’t speak, the words lost to him.  His release was draining, leaving him panting, his face hidden by her hair as he lightly kissed the curve of her neck._

_Their first night together had been heady and intense.  They both found themselves turning scarlet as they came into the Great Hall the following day, having emerged from their rooms well into the afternoon.  As they took their seats for luncheon, they could hear the whispers and giggles of the court.  Jon couldn’t find it in himself to care after a few moments, reflecting back on the night before and deciding if he had to face a gossiping crowd every day for the rest of his life, it was worth it to lie with his wife every night.  Sansa on the other hand seemed to be embarrassed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes and that did bother him.  After they finished their meal, he had a private meeting with Sam and his advisors, demanding that they ensure that everyone who lived or worked within the castle understood they were not to speak about the private lives of their King and Queen, not even in jest.  The problem seemed to fade away over the following days until it never happened again._

_Sansa was subservient and meek in their bed chamber initially but that changed quickly as she became accustomed to their coupling.  Jon reveled in learning every detail of her body, some nights spending the entire evening kissing, licking, and nibbling across her skin.  As the weeks passed, she became more pliant under his touch, allowing him more liberties that he took gratefully.  The first time he put his mouth to her cunt, he thought she was going to kick him in the face but to his delight, she relaxed quickly and seemed to enjoy it as much as he enjoyed doing it.  Before long, she became an active participant in their lovemaking.  It started with her matching his thrusts or rolling her hips against him when his mouth was on her and progressed to all night sessions that would leave them both sweaty and exhausted the next day.  They would seek each other out, sneaking away from their obligations whenever possible to have a quick tryst, usually wherever they could find that was reasonably private._

_It was one of those midday meetings the first time he felt Sansa’s mouth on his cock.  They had snuck off to a tiny closet that was no longer in use.  Jon figured it had been forgotten about so it made for an excellent place for a clandestine meeting between an amorous husband and wife.  They had been there a few times but it was always fumbling in the pitch dark, guided only by their knowledge of each other’s bodies.  Jon kissed her desperately, trying to lift her skirts while she unfastened the laces of his breeches.  She won the race, releasing his cock and making him groan as her fingers wrapped around his girth.  Usually he had to take her from behind because of the cramped space but when he reached for her hips to turn her around, she slipped from his grasp.  He could hear the rustle of her skirts but couldn’t see what she was doing in the blackness until he felt the flicker of her tongue across the head of his prick._

_“Sansa!” he called out.  “No no no.  Come back up here love.”_

_He took him further into her mouth, making him gasp._

_“Sansa,” he said.  “You have to stop.  I don’t want you on your knees.  Please.  Come here, I need to…”_

_“Sssshhhh,” she whispered.  “You’re going to get the attention of the entire castle if you keep on.”_

_“Please,” he pleaded.  “This isn’t right.  You aren’t a whore.  Please come here.”  He held his hand out, trying to find hers to help her stand but she didn’t take it._

_“Jon,” she said.  “I want to please you the way you please me.  I actually like the taste of you.  Does that make me a whore?”_

_“No sweetheart,” he gritted out through his teeth.  “Nothing you and I do makes you a whore.  I just don’t want you to think you have to do……this.”_

_Sansa giggled.  “This?  You mean, suck your cock?”_

_“Gods Sansa,” he moaned.  “I can’t hold on if you keep saying such filthy things.”_

_Sansa took all of him in her mouth, sucking while her fingers played with his balls._

_He was a man lost.  Within seconds, he was fisting her hair, his body defying him as he peaked with her mouth still on him.  He had tried desperately to pull away from her, to save her from his depravity but the limited space and her grip on his ass made it impossible.  His orgasm had bordered on painful as he tried to stop from spilling while the pleasure intensified with each spasm of his body._

_For as guilty as he felt after the incident in the closet, Sansa seemed to have the opposite reaction.  She relished being able to practically bring him to his knees and kept finding new ways to surprise and delight him.  Once he got over the initial discomfort of his Lady Wife performing sexual favors he thought only took place in the brothels, they settled into a very adventurous sex life that they maintained throughout their marriage._

_Their escapades didn’t go unnoticed.  Within a few moons, Sansa was pregnant with their first child.  A boy they named Robb.  Year after year, Sansa fell pregnant, usually within a few months of giving birth.  It was so bad that even Sam teased Jon about giving her a break._

Jon’s thoughts turned darker.  Most of their days were filled with joy but for as much happiness as they had, they also had periods of suffering.  The chair Sansa sat by the hearth in nearly every night still held its place in their solar.  He thought back to the seemingly endless days when Sansa would rock for hours, staring into the hearth, oblivious to everything and everyone around her.

_Sansa had given birth to two healthy babes.  She was round again with their third, a few moons until another little one would join the family.  Jon had been in a council meeting when Sam had burst into the room unexpectedly, red and panting._

_“Your Grace,” he said through gasps of air.  “The Queen needs you.”_

_Something about Sam’s obvious panic made Jon’s heart leap into his throat.  Without saying a word, he stood and ran towards their chambers.  As he entered the solar, Sansa was on her hands and knees, grimacing through her tears.  She had woken to find that she had started bleeding during the night and her pains started soon after._

_The infant, a girl, could not survive on her own and her loss devastated Sansa.  For weeks, she sat in the chair in front of the hearth, her heart broken and Jon unable to do anything to help.  He felt the loss of their daughter but his wife’s grief sheared through his heart.  He made the mistake of trying to console her by telling her they would have other babes but he knew he had made a mistake as soon as the words passed his lips._

_“No, we won’t.” She hissed.  Her eyes were almost as red as her hair that was unkempt and stringy.  “You will not touch me again.”_

_It had taken a few days, but eventually she spoke to him again and even allowed him to help her bathe.  He washed every inch of her body for her, meticulously lathering her hair, lock by lock until she was clean.  When she made no move to get out of the tub, he stripped his clothing and slid in behind her, wrapping his legs around her hips.  He put his arms around her, holding her tightly, her back to his chest and stayed in the water with her until it was uncomfortably cold and her teeth chattered.  He laid next to her in their bed, watching her for hours after she fell asleep._

_Over the course of the next fourteen years, Sansa was with child six more times.  All were born healthy, five more girls and finally another boy.  By the time their son Brandon was born, Jon had settled into the idea of being surrounded by girls.  He and their oldest son Robb even joked in the practice yard about staying in peak shape for when all the suitors came calling to Winterfell for the Princesses.  The addition of another boy to their clan was exciting, securing Winterfell for future generations of Starks.  The joy was short lived._

_When their youngest son wasn’t quite two, a sickness spread through the North, killing most who became ill.  They never found out who had brought the disease into Winterfell but one morning Brandon woke up with a fever and never recovered.  Sam tried every remedy he could find but less than a week later, Brandon died in Sansa’s arms, Jon at her side.  The North mourned the loss of their little Prince but Sansa never knew.  Her grief was all consuming and she didn’t leave their rooms for months._

_Over time, she returned to her duties as Queen, Mother, and Wife.  After they lost Brandon, Sansa told him she never wanted to bear another child.  He understood her reasoning and took great pains to avoid putting another babe in her belly.  For years, they went moons without touching one another.  When they did, Jon made sure he never spilled within her.  He almost cried in relief when the day came that she no longer had her cycles and they didn’t have to be concerned about having more children._

_By then, Robb had married a young Princess from Dorne and had two children of his own.  Only one of their daughters remained unmarried but Jon figured nothing about that was going to change anytime soon.  Their youngest daughter Lyanna, reminded him of Arya.  Not only did both girls share the darker Stark features, both Arya and Lyanna were fierce women.  From the time Lyanna started walking, Jon knew she was going to be the rebellious one.  He could probably count on two hands the number of times they had managed to get her into a dress, every one of those occasions being an official engagement.  Her wardrobe of choice was breeches and tunics which worked out just fine because she spent more time in the training yard with Jon than she did with a sewing needle in her hand._

_Without children to occupy their free time, Jon and Sansa reverted back to living for one another.  Jon named their son Robb as his Hand of the King and gave him more responsibility.  The years were passing and it wouldn’t be long before Robb was Warden of the North.  He wanted Robb to be able to learn before he was thrust into it as he had been._

The afternoon was getting late.  Jon left their old chambers with a smile on his face.  He passed Jorah in the corridor but he knew where Jon was going and would not dare follow him.  The King went to the same place every evening, returning the castle after the darkness descended.  Jon wrapped his cloak around himself and took the torch from the sconce by the front gate before making his way down the trail to the crypts.  It was even colder in the crypts than outside but the chill never bothered him.

He sat on the chair and bowed his head.  He didn’t know if he believed in the Old Gods any more.  A lifetime of pain and sorrow had left him to question their existence.  He only prayed in the off chance that they did exist and his words would be heard.  He looked up, the statue of Sansa Stark Targaryen looming over him.  Her statue was made to resemble what she looked like when she was a young woman.  It was nearly identical to the statue of her Mother that was just a few feet away.  Their son Brandon was buried in between her and her Lord Father, Ned Stark. 

Jon came to the crypts every evening at the same time and had for over three years now.  Usually he sat in silence, looking at the statue but sometimes, if something particularly interesting had happened that day, he would tell Sansa all about it.  The children would send letters to tell him about his grandchildren and he would wait to read them until he could share them with her.  He hated the statue.  The artist had worked hard on it, meticulously detailing every inch of it but Jon couldn’t stomach it.  Her hair looked too straight.  It didn’t have the little waves that cascaded down her back.  There was no smile on her lips.  The color of the statue reminded him that he no longer had her blue eyes looking up at him and his World was nothing but a gray existence that seemed to stretch on with no end in sight.

_Sansa was ill.  She had taken to their bed after complaining of fatigue.  At the time, Jon hadn’t thought much of it.  They were no longer young, the years aging their minds and their bodies.  When she felt the same the following day, Jon stayed in their rooms with her, leaving Robb to manage the Council meetings and Winterfell.  For nearly a fortnight, Sansa weaved in between being awake and sleeping.  As the days passed, she became more incoherent.  She spoke of days past as if it were in the present.  She would ask him who was caring for their children even though all of their babes had grown and had babes of their own.  A couple of times, he found himself being chided for something he had done in the early years of their marriage.  For as many times as Sansa had claimed it was no longer of concern, clearly it had stayed with her.  He regretted most of those things._

_Sansa was more than he could have ever hoped for.  He never thought he’d have a beautiful wife and family during those long, cold days at the Wall.  Jon had resigned himself to be alone in his life so to be given a second chance with a woman like Sansa had to be nothing short of a gift from the Gods.  He had been blessed with a wife who forced him to be a better man for no other reason than his need to be worthy of her.  Her kindness and gentle nature made her an amazing Mother to their children and Queen to their people._

_In her last days, Jon laid in the bed next to her.  His arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tightly to him, the way he always had because she told him it made her feel safe.  He prayed for her to get better but he knew their time together in this life was coming to an end.  He could still see little strands of her red hair in the sea of silver her locks had become.  Her eyes were no longer the vivid blue of her youth but they were still just as beautiful and searing.   Most of their conversations were strange and unable to be understood by anyone listening but Jon knew of what she was speaking of.  He remembered their life together and could put her words into context.  Their last conversation had been the most lucid since she had taken ill._

_“Jon,” Sansa whispered.  “Have you sent ravens to the children yet?”_

_“Why would I have sent ravens?” He asked.  He wasn’t sure where she was going with this._

_She sighed and smiled.  “They should know I’m going to be gone soon.  But I’m sure you can send them after.  It won’t make a difference really.”_

_“Sansa…please,” Jon pleaded.  “Don’t speak like that.  You aren’t going anywhere.  You can’t.”_

_“We are old,” Sansa said.  “We got more years than either of our parents did.  And they were really good years.”_

_Jon’s throat felt like it was closing.  “Yes, they were.  They were amazing years.”_

_“Do you think you can die?” Sansa asked.  It was obviously something she had thought about.  “You aren’t like me.  You have already returned from the dead.  What if you don’t die?”_

_“I can and will die love.  I was told that I would die when I was no longer needed,” he said.  “I imagine that will be very soon.”_

_“You have always been so dramatic,” She whispered.  “You have not been rendered worthless my darling.”_

_“I will be if you’re not by my side,” he said.  “I don’t want to stay here without you.”_

_Sansa gave a slight smile.  “Make sure the kids know I love them.  And don’t let them write anything about me that isn’t true.  I don’t want generations of Starks thinking I was some kind of hero.”_

_“You have always underestimated yourself,” Jon said.  “I’m sure the stories about us will tell a tale about a King who would have never been without his Queen.”_

_Sansa fell asleep in his arms and when he woke, she had gone._

_It had been three years since Sansa had died.  For three years Jon had wandered the halls of Winterfell alone.  He had remained King, an oath he had taken until his death but he rarely participated in Court.  Robb had taken over as Warden of the North, leaving his Father to grieve in his own time.  His son hadn’t realized that he would never be the King he had been when Sansa was at his side._

Jon dressed in his best clothing.  He wore the vest Sansa had made him for their wedding, a velvet piece in black and red that had made him feel like a fool at the time.  He had only worn it a few other times in his life, always notable occasions but it seemed like the right time now.  He brushed through the still unruly curls, lamenting on the loss of color and grumbling at the old man that now looked back at him in the mirror.  He hadn’t given much credence to the attention he got from females in his younger years but he missed his youthful appearance now.  His face was withered and wrinkled, his hair considerably thinner, and the hard muscles had gone away, leaving an old man in its wake. 

He arranged the stack of letters on the desk in his study before making his way back to the chambers he and Sansa had shared.  Lying on the bed, he turned to his side and closed his eyes.

_Sansa’s hair was fiery red and her blue eyes stood out against the alabaster of her skin._

_“Jon,” she whispered.  Her voice was no longer raspy and strained.  “Jon, can you hear me?”_

_“Yes,” he responded.  “I’m not deaf.  Just old.”_

_Sansa laughed.  The sound of it was almost like a melody.  A song remembered through the years.  “No, you aren’t deaf.  Nor are you old.”_

_Jon wasn’t sure how he had ended up standing but he found himself looking down at Sansa.  The Sansa he remembered from their youth.  She took her hand in his, raising it to his view.  She was right.  His skin was no longer crinkly and as thin as paper.  Neither was hers.  He pulled her into his arms and wept against her neck.  It felt like they had been apart for a lifetime and now she was in his arms again, she was real.  When he opened his eyes, he saw Ned and Catelyn standing a few feet away and realized he was in Winterfell.  But it was the Winterfell before the Long Winter._

_“I died didn’t I?” Jon asked._

_“Yes,” Sansa responded.  “As we all do.”_

_Jon almost laughed.  “That’s good.  I would have hated to have gone through all the pomp and circumstance of dressing in my best clothes to wake up needing to have a piss.”  He heard Ned’s boisterous laughter and felt embarrassed for a moment._

_“So what is this?” Jon asked.  “I thought we were supposed to ascend to the Heavens or something like that.”_

_“No,” Sansa said.  “We don’t ascend through the clouds.  We just go home.”_

_Jon’s lips took hers, his hands holding her face.  She still smelled of lemons and tasted just as sweet as he remembered.  For the first time in years, he felt alive.  He was where he was always supposed to be._

_When he broke the kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers.  “I have always loved you.  From the moment you were born.  You are the love of my life.  I have never loved another as I have loved you and always will.”_

_“I know,” she said gently.  “That’s why you are here.  I love you too.”_

_“We had a great life,” he said.  “You made my life perfect.  I wish I could have given you everything you dreamed of and protected you from everything that caused you harm like I promised.  Thank you for loving me even when it was hard and when it hurt.”_

_“None of my suffering was ever at your hands,” Sansa said.  “But all of my joy was.  You gave me a life that will be written about and a love story young girls will read for hundreds of years.”_

Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark did become a love story in the history books.  Instead of dreaming of a knight in shining armor coming to rescue them, girls began to think about falling in love with a kind man who would love them and protect them the rest of their days. 

Their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren visited their place in the crypts often.  They would stand in front of the statue of their Grandmother, the arms of their Grandfather wrapped tightly around her shoulders, a stone reminder of a love that created them.  Nobody else in the Seven Kingdoms had a statue like that.  Two people carved into one.


End file.
